She reminisced about when she was young. ‘Your father took me on an elephant ride in Darjeeling and proposed on the back of the elephant. He slipped a silver box in my hands. He had his back to me when he proposed. In the box was an expensive ring. I never saw his eyes throughout. Oh, he could be affectionate, even charming, but romance was beyond him. One month after our marriage he had that droll, completely vacant look men have when they are looking through you.’

Govinda splashed his face before his arms reached out for the soap and his hand closed around a lathery, red bar of Lifebuoy.

‘I left out your favourite dolphin towel that your father bought you,’ said his mother. The burning elephant was forgotten, if only for the moment, then it reappeared in his mind and he grabbed more water in his cupped hands and splashed his face. He wanted to cleanse himself of the smoke and fumes. He splashed his face again. He spat out water. His eyes still closed. ‘I’m going,’ she called, ‘you will feel better again.’

Gods and Beggars

Gods And Beggars

If there were a beginning, it would have to be Kali. Kali came before the Marxists arrived, before the British took over Calcutta, before the French and Dutch and British competed for India, before the Portuguese discovered the sea route and arrived in the south, before the Muslims and Syrians and even before the Greeks. Long before Guru Nanak Dev, Mohammed, St Judas Thomas, Jesus and Buddha, Kali was there in Calcutta laying down her laws for gods and beggars. Govinda often thought of Kali because her fearsome image could be found all over the city: in temples, murals, pavilions, restaurants, classrooms and even taxis. She had four arms, with a sword in one hand and the decapitated head of a demon in another. The other two hands blessed her followers. There were two heads for her earrings, a string of skulls for a necklace and a belt made from human hands as her skirt. Her tongue protruded from her mouth, her eyes were red, and her face and breast were sullied with blood. She stood with one foot on her thigh and another on the chest of her husband, Shiva.

Govinda was looking at an image of Kali when he heard a familiar voice. ‘Hey! Butt-scratcher, why’d your father have to shoot and burn that circus elephant?’ It was Nitesh, one of his classmates. Govinda lifted his hand, extended two fingers and cocked his thumb like he was aiming a gun. ‘Phow! Phow!’ he said.